


A Matter of Seconds

by archea2



Series: The Reason for the Unreason [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Spin the Bottle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 20:56:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2243256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archea2/pseuds/archea2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg spins the bottle, but Sherlock gets his man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Seconds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eloquy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eloquy/gifts).



> So yesterday night I asked for reward prompts while completing a very tedious translation. Flyingpoisson (Eloquy on AO3) asked for the boys' first kiss.
> 
> Written at midnight when I was fairly knackered, so fairly cracky.

Picture to yourself, fair reader, Lestrade and team plus Gregson, plus Our Man In Baker Street, plus John and Mary, minus the baby, playing Spin the Bottle at 221B.

(Mrs Hudson, saint extraordinaire, has volunteered to miss the fun and babysit little Matilda. But she knows where the secret webcam is, having planted it herself in the smiley’s left eye.  _Never_  underestimate Mrs H when it comes to that proverbial last laugh.)

The case is closed, but the night is still young - and so are half of Lestrade’s finest, meaning that there’s enough adrenaline on the scene to shortcircuit the Battersea Power Station, were it still up and running. Hence the bottle and the kissing game. Why the game started here in Sherlock's living-room is no longer very clear to anyone, though if you asked Lestrade he would probably round up the usual suspects and say “It’s Gregson”. 

Anyway. So far, the bottle has been a bit whimsical in its matchmaking. Due to the less-than-closed ranks, now that everyone is sprawled on the floor, the kissing score runs as follows:

John has kissed the skull.

Sally, with a resounding smack, has kissed the air two inches above Sherlock’s head.

Mary has kissed Greg's cheek. (That's what she says.)

Gregson, to whom the empty state of the bottle must be largely credited, has kissed the smiley. Much to Mrs Hudson’s delight, since Gregson is the living image of dear Hudson, without the jigsaw.

The young’uns have contributed a sloppy input, in and out of turn. And now it’s Greg's turn to try bottle luck.

The bottle spins, totters, trembles...stops. Nine pairs of eyes follow where its long neck is pointing all too clearly.

"Yeah, no." Lestrade’s throat is surprisingly dry, given how much he has wetted his whistle. "Tell you what, Sh'lock. We’ll play by the old rule. Make it a hug." 

" _Old_ is a relative concept when applied to a game that has no recorded history," Sherlock answers in a drawl. "I might, however, be amenable to a -"

"…four…five!" comes from one of the more reckless constables. "Five seconds! You gotta kiss him now, guv!"

"Tenner he does!"

"Tenner he don’t!"

"Oh, really.” And Sherlock exposes his own long, white neck to Lestrade’s eyes as he turns to castigate the speakers. “If you need to place a bet, at least refrain from mangling your native grammar in the process. The third-person singular -“

"Ten seconds! Ten seconds! Gotta _French_ him now, guv!"

"Guys, that’s enough." Lestrade licks his lips then, with a horrified face, tries to un-lick them under Sherlock’s fixed stare. The operation is not a success. "Sorry, oh god, sorry. Look, we’d better - "

He is answered with a long, husky sigh. Then Sherlock suddenly turns a horizontal flip that lands him head first in Lestrade’s lap, one long arm flung up to catch the DI by the neck. The next thing everyone and the webcam know, Lestrade is bent double over Sherlock’s mouth with the moistest, loudest, oldest noise in the world.

Five seconds later, they’re still kissing.

Ten seconds later, the DI is the first to resurface, his hair mussed as it hasn’t been since the 1982 Who Tour. Blinks are exchanged. Sherlock has no share in them: he is quite content to topple forward, snuggling into Greg’s lap again.

Now Gregson and the young’uns are tiptoeing towards the door under John’s eloquent waving.

Mary, from the floor, shakes her head in reluctant wonder. 

"You. Hey, you." But the only answer is a soft drone, as Sherlock burrows more firmly into Greg’s left hip. Mary leans forward to stroke his crowning glory, the only tangible part of his face. "That was pitch-perfect timing, you. Never let it be said that Sherlock Holmes can’t play by the rules."

"Holy smoke," Greg says faintly.

But he doesn’t budge, save to tighten his arm around the slender, snoring parasite. And this is how Mrs Hudson, having delivered little Matilda to her rightful carers, finds them after she climbs the stairs with two cups of chamomile. (That's what she says; Sherlock Holmes knows ginseng when he smells it.) 

It's a very good thing, everyone agrees later, that Sally remembered to take a souvenir pic - on  _her_ mobile.


End file.
